


Ache

by PhoenixScript



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Movie AU, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 12:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16597793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixScript/pseuds/PhoenixScript
Summary: Only behind closed doors does Robert Fischer finally allow himself to crash. Plotless post-movie hurt/comfort (ish) featuring a cameo from our favorite forger. Implied FischerEames





	Ache

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep.

It’s the middle of the afternoon, for god’s sake - though he’s crossed so many time zones in the past 48 hours that it could be the middle of the night and he wouldn’t know the difference.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep - he doesn’t even mean to close his eyes. Setting foot in his hotel suite for the first time since he checked in this morning, he only sits down on the chaise lounge to answer an email, sift through his text messages, jot down notes for tomorrow’s round of meetings. His head has been throbbing relentlessly all day, making it extremely difficult to focus on the lines of tiny digital script; but somehow even just the thought of fishing his laptop out of his briefcase is exhausting, so he sticks to his phone.

The room is dim, the sun already setting against the Boston skyline and painting the walls with various shades of reds and oranges. Even so, the backlight of his screen is harsh to his tired eyes, and he pinches the very top of the bridge of his nose as hard as he can to ward off both his headache and the feathery twinge of a developing sneeze.

His headache doesn’t abate at all, and the sneeze happens despite his best efforts, though he keeps it wholly silent, wrestling control from his body in a thankless and involuntary gesture of propriety. His sinuses protest this, and for a moment he thinks he’s going to sneeze again; but the sensation fades, swallowed by the resurgence of pain in his head.

It’s at this point that he must have slipped into an unwitting doze, letting his head fall back in something akin to defeat against the lounge for just a moment. Because the next thing he knows, he’s twitching awake, disoriented and in total darkness.

He fumbles around for his phone, which is no longer in his hand - but the movement sets his head spinning and distracts him from his panicked search. He leans forward, bracing his elbows against his knees and pressing the flat edge of a knuckle between his eyes, and it’s in that moment that he registers that _everything hurts._

What began as a persistent but expected headache has now flared into a raging pain rooted in the center of his skull; his throat stings when he swallows, and a deep, sickly ache has settled at his core, radiating out through muscle and bone and making it difficult to move or think. Even his skin aches, the weight of his clothing provoking prickles of discomfort along the surface of his arms and his shoulders and his back.

He locates his phone at last and grips it in hands clumsy with pain, the ache pulsing even in the little bones in his fingers. His heart sinks, familiarly overwhelming sense of disappointment in himself welling in his chest as he sees how late it is, how many texts he’s missed. A call from his event coordinator. A call from Eames.

He stands much too quickly, tripping on his own feet as he moves toward the door to flick on the light. The sudden brightness assaults his senses, making his eyes water and setting his sinuses burning again. He squeezes his eyes shut and loosens his tie, exhaling heavily and allowing himself a minute just to breathe.

He manages to undress and throw on a t-shirt before the maddening itch in his sinuses overtakes him and he is subjected to a trio of graceless, ticklish sneezes that he struggles to bottle back. A fourth escapes him while he's still recovering, tearing at his sore throat and bringing tears to his eyes. It makes him cough, and already the heavy, tight feeling is there, lurking above his diaphragm, waiting.

He puts his inhaler beside him on the bedside table before he shuts off the lights.

Chills shudder through him as he gets under the covers, the silky sheets too slippery against his aching skin. Sinking back against too many pillows, he sets his jaw and texts Eames.

_Sorry I missed your call. Fell asleep._

His phone buzzes not two minutes later, and he can all but hear the fond amusement in Eames’ reply.

_As well you should, love. Long day?_

He sighs, just the thought of it exacerbating his headache.

_Understatement. I didn't get back to the hotel until five._

Despite the late hour, Eames’ responses are quick and sharp as always, as if he's still wide awake. Robert feels a pang of guilt as it occurs to him that Eames probably waited up for him.

_Jesus Christ, Robert.. have you eaten?_

He can't remember, if he's honest, though the likeliest answer is no. Jet lag wreaks havoc on his already finicky appetite, not to mention he really hasn't had any time.

_Not hungry. And I fell asleep before I could think about it really._

The next reply is a few minutes in coming, and he starts to drift a little, though the feverish feeling that's beginning to come over him prevents him from actually sleeping.

_Are you coming down ill, darling?_

Robert blinks, mind pulled back to semi-alertness as he stares at the words, but a second message comes in before he can cobble together a coherent response.

_I'm calling, love._

Robert's breath catches hard in his throat, but Eames texts again, as if he can read his mind.

_Hush, darling, don't fuss, you don't have to talk <3 _

He's pretty sure he's blushing when he picks up the call, but in the dark it doesn't matter.

His limbs ache, and his head, and his chest - really, there isn't a part of him that doesn't - but the blankets are warm and Eames’ voice is warmer.

True to his word, Eames does all the talking, and Robert finds himself relaxing in spite of the pain.

  
He wants to ask if Eames _means_ to lull him, if his lilting voice is low and soft on purpose.. but he falls into a dreamless, desperately needed sleep before he can open his mouth.


End file.
